


i want you, all the ways

by deathsweetqueen



Series: Ladies of Marvel Bingo 2019 [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Tony Stark, Consensual Verbal Humiliation, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Tony Stark, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Indian Tony Stark, Jealous Steve Rogers, Possessive Behavior, Public Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Top Steve Rogers, Voyeurism, consensual degradation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 03:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20632595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: Toni's momentary little freak-out at a gala turns out to be a very good decision on her part, when Steve follows after her.





	i want you, all the ways

**Author's Note:**

> This satisfies the "we can't do that here" square (M1) for the Ladies of Marvel Bingo 2019.
> 
> Warnings are pretty obvious, be wary.

Toni drags her hand across the wall, padding forwards, the sharp, rhythmic pounding of her heart in her chest roaring in her ears. Her head is splitting wide open, and it had taken everything inside her not to grapple for a glass of champagne, a glass of white, whiskey, vodka, anything.

She’d settled for Coke, and it’d wet her throat very nice, but not nice enough for her float away from this party the way she would’ve done as a rebellious twenty-year-old with a nice, tall glass of vodka and iced tea.

God, she can feel it on her tongue, as pathetic as it sounds.

But no, she made a promise, and she intends to keep it – let the various historians, centuries from today, who write about her, not call her a fair-weather woman, unable to keep her promises.

The drape of her saree falls down her shoulder, down to her wrist, tickling her, scratching her.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she mutters, grappling for the folds, desperately trying to rearrange it into some form of pleat before anyone sees, anyone finds her like this, desperate and anxious and stomach curdling and a total fucking mess.

That’d make one fucking amazing front page.

“Toni?”

Toni looks up, her lungs in her throat, and it’s Steve.

A long, breathless second heaves against her lungs.

He looks so handsome, in his black suit and bowtie and thick beard crawling all over his face.

He takes a step forward. “Toni, are you okay, is everything okay?”

She opens her mouth, and nothing comes out, her tongue unable to form words.

His brow knits, and he strides over, long and full steps, crossing the length of the corridor, until he lay one big, deft hand on her shoulder and peer into her eyes.

“Toni, what’s wrong?” he asks, half-alarmed. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

She doesn’t know what he sees in her eyes, but everything softens, all the lines, all the hardness in his handsome face, and he wraps his long, big arms around her, pulling her firm against his body, finding her soft and yielding.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’ll all going to be okay,” he soothes into her ear.

“I’m fine,” she gasps out against the firm line of his shoulder. “I’m fine. I can go back inside soon. I just… I just needed a break. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” he chides, gently. “I’ll take you home, it’ll be fine.”

“No, no, we had-we had this gala for a reason,” she mumbles. “I can’t bail, it wouldn’t be fair, it wouldn’t be good. We were-we were raising money, and we still have the speeches. Pepper said I had to make a speech, and the kids, the kids, they want me to talk.” She looks up at him, her eyes enormous in her face. “I don’t like people, Steve, but I like kids. I don’t want them to be upset.”

He doesn’t touch her hair, thank God, but he does rest his hand on the nape of her neck, a warm, reassuring weight that makes her sway into him.

“Toni,” he sighs. “Toni, are you sure? If you’re not feeling well, I can take you home. It’s no problem at all.”

Toni half-scowls. “I can take myself home,” she points out.

Steve smiles, fleetingly. “I know, but the sentiment matters,” he teases. He straightens. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Did you eat something, drink something?” His mouth thins. “Did someone-do you think someone put something in your drink? Should I go and-” he makes a half-aborted step like he’s about to go back into the gala and raise hell on her behalf.

Steve doesn’t like bullies, but he likes rapists, men who think they’re entitled to a warm body and a tight hole, even less.

But she grabs him before he can move.

“No, no, you stay here with me,” she says, firmly, peering up at him. “You stay here.”

Steve softens, and he runs his hand over the slope of her hip, comfortingly. “Okay, I’ll stay here with you.”

Toni digs her nails into his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “I should be… I should be stronger than this. For fuck’s sake, I have more experience with these things that anyone else. I shouldn’t… I’m being stupid, overreacting.”

“That’s enough of that,” Steve sighs. “If you’re not feeling it, you’re not feeling it. That’s all there is to it.”

“I have responsibilities,” Toni argues. “I have… Steve, I’m not, I’m not…” she takes a deep, measured breath. “I’m not good at many things,” she admits, shamefully. “I’m smart, I’m good with computers, tech, all that shit I get, but I’m not good with… _people_, I’m not good with fighting with my hands like you and Natasha and Clint are… but I can do this. I’m good at these things, these galas. I can do this. I _can_.”

Her hands shake.

Steve threads their fingers together. “You can’t, and that’s okay,” he says, gently. “You don’t have to take everything on your head, Toni. Let us shoulder some of the burden.”

Toni shakes her head and looks away, her throat flexing.

“You know, I always thought you liked this scene, the parties, the alcohol, the socialising,” Steve muses.

“Yeah, I know,” Toni laughs, strained, and there’s only a slight sting. “When we first met, you said I was all about the style.”

Steve flushes with colour. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. Did I ever say that? I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t even know you, and I judged you so badly. I’m just… I’m sorry,” he says, awkwardly.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Toni soothes, touching his jaw. She takes on a teasing tilt. “As long as you still don’t think that.”

“Definitely not,” Steve says, definitively.

Toni huffs out a laugh. “I remember when I was a little girl and I used to come to these things. My dad and I would always argue before getting in the car. It was almost like a fucking family tradition,” she scoffs.

“What did you used to argue about?” Steve asks, curiously.

Toni laughs, suddenly. “He didn’t like it when my mum used to put oil in my hair.”

Steve’s brow knits. “I don’t understand,” he says, slowly.

Toni shakes her head. “My hair’s not naturally like this, you know,” she says, casually, pointing to the neat, orderly bun her hairdresser had fixed together with voluminous amounts of hairspray and bobby pins, in order to be able to wrap the rings of jasmine around it. “After I wash my hair, it usually dries like super curly and the second I take a brush or a comb through it, it becomes a frizzy mess.”

“Yeah, I know, I’ve seen it,” Steve points out, fondly, dragging his thumb over the edge of her finger over and over again.

Toni flushes with colour. “When I was a kid, my mum used to put oil in my hair, to get rid of the frizz. Coconut, usually. Sometimes, _amla _– sorry, gooseberry oil. She’d put oil in my hair, and she’d comb it through and braid it, so I could go to bed at night. I used to get made fun of at school, of course; the kids said my hair smelled, that I was oily, etcetera. And my dad hated it. He thought it was too fucking Indian, too fucking weird, said the same things the kids at school used to say to me, so my mum, him and I used to get into a fight all the time. Especially, before a gala. My dad wanted to hire a hairdresser; my mum just wanted to put oil and be done with it. She wanted me to wear a _pattu pavadai_, he wanted me to wear a normal dress. So, they’d fight, and I’d get involved, and then, my dad and I would fight, and it was like a recycled tragedy.”

Steve scowls. “Fucking Howard,” he mutters.

“Fucking Howard,” Toni declares, nodding.

“So, uh, what is a _pattu pavadai_?” Steve asks, curiously, utterly butchering the pronunciation of the words.

Toni taps her watch in successive beats, and it brings up a hologram of a _pavadai_, which she spins around so he can see the full effect. “Basically, it’s made up of a blouse like this one,” she tugs at her own red silk blouse that bares her midriff. “But it goes down to the waist instead, and then there’s a long skirt as well.”

“I bet you looked cute in it,” Steve teases.

Toni turns red. “Maybe,” she hedges. She peers up at him through dark eyes under dark lashes. “But I look cute in everything.”

“Especially in this,” Steve agrees, smoothing a big, deft hand over the _pallu_ over her sari, as it curves over her shoulder.

Toni tips her head back, baring her throat. “Do you like the saree, Steve?” she asks, her voice going a little breathless.

Steve’s throat flexes, his eyes dark and full of promise. “I do.” His composure slips. “I didn’t like that everyone else seemed to like it too, though.”

“Oh?” Toni flutters her eyelashes.

Steve nods. “They wanted to peel you out of it, so they could have you.”

Toni curls her long fingers in the lapel of Steve’s suit. “And you didn’t like that?” she pushes. “You didn’t like the idea of someone else having me?”

Steve looks at her like she’s a work of art, like he’d very much like to commit her to paper with charcoal and colour, kiss her until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

“No, I didn’t.”

Toni licks her lips, coated in the same red of her saree. “Why?” she demands, fighting against the swooping crash in her stomach.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

It sideswipes him, the words, and for a brief moment, Toni stops breathing, clutching at his shoulders until her fingers start hurting – his muscle is unforgiveable, unmoveable, and that makes her wetter than she’s been in years (decades ago, she’d stared up at the poster of Captain America smiling down on her, and she’d slipped her fingers between her thighs and made herself come to the blue of his eyes and his white teeth and felt abysmally guilty afterwards, because good Iyengar girls shouldn’t do that, they shouldn’t touch their bodies like they’re meant to be loved).

“No, you don’t,” she laughs off, undefinable emotion welling up inside her like a floodgate is breaking.

“I do,” Steve says, in a firm, no-nonsense tone. “I’ve loved you for years, I’m just… not good at saying those things. I’m not good with girls.” He offers her a half-smile. “I wish I was braver.”

“You’re one of the bravest men I’ve ever known,” she says, half-heartedly, still trying to swallow down his words.

Steve grins, fleetingly. “Only _one_ of?” he teases.

Toni shrugs, and the _pallu_ of her saree dips low down her shoulder, baring her throat and the push and swell of her breasts under her blouse. “The bravest man I know is Rhodey,” she says, bluntly.

Steve laughs. “Fair enough. I’m happy to come second to Colonel Rhodes.”

“Actually, third,” Toni corrects, quickly. “Jarvis,” she explains, when he turns inquisitive. “But going back to the thing you said, the thing about you loving me.”

“Ah,” Steve says, and that’s it.

“That’s it,” she says, incredulously. “Ah,” she mocks.

Steve grins. “Well, what d’you want me to say? I love you. The only thing I can say now is ask you whether you feel the same or similar about me.”

“I’m not… I’m not good at saying those sorts of things,” she admits, a little shy, maybe even a little shamefaced.

“But you do have feelings for me?” Steve pushes.

Toni swallows. “For argument’s sake, let’s say I did. What would we do with that?” she asks, awkwardly.

Steve’s smile brightens like sunlight. “Well, I’d like to take you out on a date,” he says, slowly. “Maybe for dinner, or a movie? Or dancing, you like dancing, don’t you?”

“I do,” Toni replies, just as slowly. “You want to take me dancing?”

Steve nods, a little shy himself. “I’ve, uh, I’ve always wanted to go dancing with a dame I liked, but, uh, I wasn’t always the sort of guy that a dame went for.”

“Pretty fucking stupid dames,” Toni mutters under her breath.

“You’re sweet,” Steve says, fondly, smoothing his thumb over the sharp line of her cheekbone.

“No, I’m smart,” Toni corrects. “You think I haven’t seen pictures of you before you got the serum?”

Steve blinks down at her like he’d never even considered that possibility. Then, he looks away, scowling absolute murder. “Fucking Howard,” he mutters.

Toni laughs, voice clear as a bell.

“Uh, I’m sorry?” he offers.

Toni rolls her eyes. “Why are you sorry?”

“I wasn’t exactly very good looking back then, you know,” Steve points out. “I looked like I might get step on by the next guy, like my bones would break if someone touched me a little too hard. I could barely breathe on a good day. I was… a mess.”

Toni sighs. “Can I tell you something that’s only slightly creepy and more than a little inappropriate?”

“You can tell me anything,” Steve says, immediately.

“A long time ago, before I met you, I used to get myself off to that picture of you,” she says, bluntly.

In her defence, Steve’s reaction to her words is absolutely breathtaking. The colour leaches out of his face, and is promptly replaced with a pink stain stretching across his pale skin, until his face resembles a strawberry.

“But… but, why?” Steve looks absolutely lost for words, lost for any explanation.

“Because you were strong, because you were hungry, because the world kept telling you _no_, but you kept saying _yes_. I can relate to that.” She stares up at him through her eyelashes, almost shy, and she twists a finger in the lapel of his suit. “I can relate to that a lot.” She sighs. “Plus, you might’ve realised, I’m not really big myself.”

“I’ve noticed,” Steve says, amused.

“Don’t,” Toni warns. Her eyes drift up and pin on the long, pale line of his throat, flexing, and the swooping sensation in her stomach grows hot. “But, hypothetically speaking, what would we do with the fact that you and I have feelings for each other, possibly are in love with each other, right now? Here?” she says, pointedly.

Steve’s brow furrows. “Like I said, I’d want to take you dancing-”

“No, no,” Toni says, quickly. “I mean, _here_. What would you to do to me here?” she insists, her tongue curling around the words.

Steve’s eyes grow hot. “Do to you, as in?” he trails off.

Heat dances behind Toni’s dark, dark eyes and thick, long lashes. “Exactly,” she says, in a honey-sweet tone.

Steve clears his throat, cheeks stained blotchy pink. “I’m not quite sure…” he says, awkwardly. He sighs, finally. “Toni, I should probably tell you something.”

Toni tilts her head. “What, what’s wrong?” she asks, concerned, touching the jut of his jawbone.

Steve swallows. “I’ve never been with anyone before,” he admits, shyly. “I never really had a chance, but yeah, I’ve never been with anyone in that way.”

Toni’s smile brightens. “That is incredibly hot.”

Steve blinks rapidly. “It is?”

Toni nods, swaying forward. “It means you’re mine,” she murmurs, sinking her teeth into her lower lip.

“Does it?”

“Yeah, it does,” Toni says, breathlessly. “But even if you haven’t been with anyone before, that doesn’t mean you don’t have ideas. Am I right?”

Steve flushes. “Maybe,” he hedges.

“I want you to fuck me,” she says, in that strange, blunt way of hers.

Steve’s eyes widen until they’re enormous in his face. “What? No, we can’t do that here!” he hisses.

“We absolutely can do that here,” Toni declares. She watches him through the half-dark of lidded eyes. “Are you telling me you don’t want to fuck me?” she demands.

Steve colours immediately. “Toni, you know it’s not that-” he says, awkwardly.

Toni bites down on her lower lip, fisting her hand in his tie and pulling him in so he can crowd her against the wall. She leans it, teeth dragging over the lobe of her ear.

“I want you to fuck me,” she growls.

Steve sways forward, eyes darkening. “Toni,” he groans.

“Come on,” she laughs. “I saw the way you were glaring at those guys staring at my tits in this dress. You were seriously thinking about your staking your territory, and you certainly weren’t thinking of staking it in a vanilla way, like dragging me to the corridor so you could fuck me up against the wall. You were thinking more of a dirty, hard screw right in front of them, weren’t you? You were thinking about bending me over, lifting my saree up and fucking me from behind, weren’t you, so they could all watch?”

Steve looks away, his throat flexing. “I admit nothing,” he says, roughly.

“You were!” Toni says, delighted. “It’s okay, it’s not something that we could practically indulge in, considering how horny for scandal the pig people of this world are, including the paparazzi. But I appreciate your imagination, and I am always happy to indulge in a fantasy or two. And whatever we can’t do in front of them, we can always do here.”

“But we can’t,” Steve complains. “Someone could see us, and if that got reported to the paparazzi-”

“-I’d warn them how influential I am, how rich I am, and warn them against it,” she says, simply.

Steve huffs. “I can’t promise that I approve,” he says, sternly.

Toni grins like the sun, leaning up into him. “So, punish me,” she purrs.

Steve groans. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he swears.

“It’s okay,” she sighs, twisting her fingers in his golden hair. “It’s okay, just kiss me.”

Steve groans and sinks into, kissing her gently at first, before his mouth moves over hers firm and wanting and greedy. He wraps his arms around her thin, small frame, curving her against his broad body. She makes a sound of protest against his mouth, muffled, and pulls away, the blood hot in her face.

“You can’t touch my hair,” she says, breathlessly.

Steve’s eyes cross over before he’s able to focus. “What?” he replies, bemused.

“If you touch my hair, the jasmine will start breaking away and everyone will know what happened, what you did to me to muss me up so much,” she says, slyly. “I don’t mind, but I think you might.”

Steve sighs and kisses her again. Her _pallu_ slips from her shoulder very easily, baring her midriff and the swell of her breasts under her blouse to his gaze. His hand is hot, heavy on the slope of her bare hip, easing up her ribs.

“I didn’t like it,” he murmurs.

“Didn’t like what?” she gasps, when his mouth finds her throat and nips.

“The way they were looking at you, like they wanted to eat you,” he groans. “Like they wanted to fuck you. Like they’d give up their entire fortunes just for a night with you. I didn’t like it.”

“Why?” she urges, her pulse a heavy thud under her skin.

“Because you’re mine,” he says, finally. “Only I get to spend nights with you, and days with you, and moments and seconds with you.”

“Why?” she demands once more.

“Because I love you, and you’re mine.”

Toni tangles their fingers together and raises them so he can palm one of her breasts through her blouse. Steve’s eyes are hooded.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he comments.

Toni laughs. “I used to, but the straps would always show through the blouse and that was a bitch. Now, I just… go without.”

She gasps when he thumbs a nipple, which tightens both under his hand and his hot gaze.

“I want to strip you out of this, right here, right now,” he whispers, guilt flashing through his eyes. “I shouldn’t… it’s not right. You deserve a bed; you’re not some good-time gal, y’know?”

Toni hushes him, drags his fingers to the hooks of her blouse, straining against the hollow of her breasts. He unhooks them, on by one, until the blouse parts in the middle and she slips it off, leaving her naked from the waist up.

“Fuck,” he says, resoundingly, staring at the dark brown of her nipples, her breasts fine and full and shapely.

_Thank God for South Indian genes._

“What, you just gonna stare at them?” she taunts.

Steve huffs out a laugh, and his thumb traces the slope of her breast, fingers twisting a nipple until she whines at the sweet pleasure, edged with pain. She leans forward, head thrown back, whole body shuddering and going taut.

“Wow,” he says, awed. “You look that, don’t you?”

“I love that,” Toni says, breathlessly. “Keep going.”

Steve dips his head down and runs her tongue over her nipple, and she gasps out, threading her fingers through his golden hair and pulling.

“I think this might be my most favourite part of you,” he rasps, and she can feel the length of his cock rubbing up against her hip.

“You haven’t even been inside my cunt yet; don’t get too far ahead of yourself.”

Steve mouths at the warm, tender spot on her throat where her pulse throbs fast and wild.

“Come on, Steve,” she whispers. “Get inside me, fuck me, fill me up, I’ve been waiting for this for too long. I can’t wait anymore.”

Steve’s cock twitches against his hip. He trails his hand down from the heavy curve of her breasts down to the dip in her pelvic bone, over the waistline of her petticoat, in which the pleats of her saree are tucked. He lingers, uncertainly, and Toni pulls away from where she’s wriggling against his body for some friction, to stare at him.

“I, uh, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here, with this,” he laughs.

Toni grins. “There is something sacrilegious about getting come on a saree,” she agrees.

She slips a hand inside her petticoat, watching Steve’s eyes turn black beneath her lashes (_another time_, she thinks, _another time, you can watch me finger my cunt and get myself off and you can fuck just as I’m all sloppy and aching_), and she pulls out the pleats of her saree.

The saree unravels, just like that, pooling at her feet in a puddle of silk, leaving her only a petticoat, black and flaring outward.

For a brief moment, Steve’s expression betrays his uncertainty.

“Toni, if someone came along, if they saw-” he says, carefully. “Toni, no one should see you like this.”

“Except for you,” she teases.

Steve shrugs. “Only if you want me to,” he says, sincerely. “I don’t want you to be embarrassed, humiliated, if someone saw us, saw you like this, took pictures…”

His fist clenches and unclenches around nothing.

“You’d smash their face in?” she guesses, touching his jaw.

Steve grinds his teeth together. “I might do worse,” he says, honestly. “You’re not… you’re not some charity girl.”

“Is that 1940s slang for slut?” she asks, curiously.

Steve turns beet red. “I wouldn’t use that sort of language to describe you,” he says, defensively.

“Why?” Toni blunts. “I’ve made my way around the block. The aunties and uncles all mourned my virginity, I can assure you. I am a slut. We reclaimed the word, you know. It’s ours now, and I’m happy to be a slut.”

Steve shakes his head. “You don’t use that word to describe a lady, not one you love,” he insists.

Toni melts like ice cream and throws her arms around his broad shoulders, rubbing her breasts against his suit shirt. “Okay, fine,” she says, fondly. “What if I was just _your_ slut?”

Steve’s cock twitches in interest, and it makes her eyes light up.

“Oh, you like that,” she says, delighted. “I can be your slut, if you’d like, Steve. Only yours, Steve, yours to fuck stupid and raw whenever you’d like. And if you’re so concerned about people catching us like this, come here.”

She kicks away her saree, briefly grieving because dry-cleaning is always a bitch to get done, and drags him in, so he can crowd her up against the wall.

“Here, now you cover me completely,” she sighs, because he’s big enough that his broad shoulders, thick stomach, all of it shields her body.

Even if someone were to find them like this, they’d never be able to see anything past Steve’s bulk.

That thought alone makes her wet.

“There, isn’t that nice?” she looks up at through her eyelashes.

Steve swallows, thickly, and his lean fingers go to the tie of her petticoat. “You’re sure?” he asks, carefully, his fingers loose around the curve of her body.

She drags her finger from the pulse point in her throat, down over the ridge of her collarbone, dipping through the hollow between her breasts, before circling a taut nipple.

“Are you really gonna keep me waiting?” she asks, coyly.

Steve shakes his head and kisses her, hard and deep and messy, deft fingers untying her petticoat and letting it slip to the floor.

“Wow, those things are loose,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, well, they’re one size fits all, usually,” she explains, just as he trails a finger in the line of her pelvic bone, just over the silk of her underwear.

He hooks the finger and drags it down, so she can kick it off her heels.

“Now, what?” she asks. “Are you going to take out some of those fantasies on me?”

“You naked is most of those fantasies,” he says, dryly.

Toni laughs, warm and bright, and she reaches up, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders.

“Come on, Rogers, I know you’re more creative than that,” she cajoles.

Steve shrugs and lets her climb him like a tree, hands planted on her thin hips. “What can I say?” he offers her a shy, kind smile. “All I want is you.”

Toni shudders in pleasure. “You’re real smooth, you know?”

“I wasn’t before,” he says, half-heartedly.

Toni touches the jut of his jawbone. “Remember what I said? All those girls were fucking dumb, and they don’t matter, because you’re here with me. That’s all that matters.”

Steve nods.

“Come on, tell me what you’d do to me, and then, do it.”

She unbuttons his slacks, pulls the zipper down, and her hand finds its way inside his briefs to curl around his hard cock, already weeping from the head. She pulls it out, marvels at the weight, the length of it, and her thumb sweeps over the thin vein on the underside, grinning when he ruts into her grip.

_I should make him a fleshlight_, she thinks, _for when he goes on missions, so he has something to remember me by._

“I didn’t like the way those guys were looking at you,” he growls, his eyes blue and hot.

“Oh?”

“They were looking at you like they wanted to eat you, like they wanted to use you up and own you. You aren’t a woman made to be owned,” he says, voice thin and taut. “And if you were, you’d be owned by me and no one else.”

“Keep going,” she orders, hooking her thigh around his hip, fisting his cock.

“I wanted them to watch, as peeled you out of that saree, sat you on my lap and let you ride my cock like a horse. I’d make you face them, so they could see your face, so they could see how much you liked my cock inside you, filling you up, just the way you like.”

“Why aren’t you fucking me already?” she complains, and his cock slides against her wet, open cunt.

Steve grips her thigh and spreads her open, hand going to his cock and slipping inside her, so easily. The first inch of her around his cock is nice and tight and she gasps, fluttering around him.

“Yes, just like that,” she sighs. “Keep talking.”

Steve swallows, thickly, his eyes dilated. “You’d be so good for me, wouldn’t you, doll?” he rasps against the hollow of her throat. “You’d be so full, just like you are now, like you can’t breathe without my cock inside you.”

Toni nods against the curve of his shoulder, panting, as he starts thrusting, first testing the waters and then rolling his hips against hers, slow and easy and lazy. “Yes, yes, I want to ride your cock, want you to use me like a desperate bitch in heat.”

Steve groans. “I’d plant your feet on my thighs, spread you open, so they could see your pretty pussy, taking my cock, all wet and pink and swollen. Fuck, you feel like crumpled silk there. They’d see everything, they’d see that hard little clit, how you fit around my cock perfectly, your beautiful breasts, flushed and panting and writhing, and I wouldn’t let you close your legs. No, I wouldn’t. And then, it wouldn’t take much, because you feel so fucking good like this, tangled around my cock, sweetheart. I never want to let this go, never want to let you go. I want to keep you on my cock for the rest of eternity, Toni.”

Toni’s teeth tug at his ear. “You and me both, babe,” she croons, his chest hair scratching at her nipples, a delicious little sting that makes her arousal spike.

“So, I’d come, I’d come real quick, and I’d come right inside you.” Steve pulls away, frowning. “I’m not using a rubber, is that a problem?”

“I have an IUD,” she reassures, sucking a dark bruise into his throat, just above his collar, stretched wide around the girth of his cock. “And I’m clean; so are you, I had you tested when you came into my tower.”

Steve pauses. “I feel like I should consider that a violation of my privacy,” he confesses.

“It sort of is,” Toni agrees. “But I won’t apologise for it, because it now means you can come inside me, leave me all messy and wet inside. I’ll start leaking your come when you pull out-”

Steve grunts against the hollow of her throat and snaps his hips forward, pounding into her like he’s on a mission (she’s loved that about for so long, that relentless, unfaltering look in his eyes, all that force and all that want and all that backbone and all that resolve pinning her in place).

“That’s what I’d want those assholes to see,” he mutters. “I’d come, your pussy clutching me like a vice, and I’d pull out, but keep your thighs spread, so they could all see you messy, my come shining across your thighs, leaking out of your cunt, fluttering open like you still wanted my cock inside you, like you weren’t whole without my cock fucking you like you need to be fucked-”

“Fuck,” Toni gasps, digging her nails into his shoulders and drawing blood (she doesn’t care, he’ll heal, and even if he doesn’t, he’ll have her marks on her for as long as they need to be). “I’m almost there, Steve, don’t stop, _don’t stop_.”

“Holy shit!”

Steve turns his head, and she looks over his shoulder, only to see one of the gala’s guests, one of the men she’d been fake-chatting to, lingering in the corner of the hallway, his eyes about to bug out of his head like some absurd Looney Tunes cartoon.

Steve goes to pull out of her, to dress themselves in some semblance of modesty and diffuse the situation, all the way maintaining her dignity and honour (that’s first in his mind, she already knows that) – there’d been a man at another gala like this who’d gotten drunk and called her a _used-up, loose curry whore_ when she wouldn’t sleep with him, and Steve had broken his jaw.

Her thighs tighten around his waist. “No, keep going,” she sighs against his mouth.

“But he can see us,” Steve hisses at her.

“I know, I want him to, _you_ want him to,” she urges.

Something looms behind his eyes, sharp as a knife, remembering how much he’d hated the attention those men back in the gala had given her, their eyes latched on her throat and breasts, his earlier fantasy that he’d spoken to.

He grips the ankle hooked around his hip and spreads her open, fucking into her, feeling her throb and clench around his cock. He turns his head, sends the man gaping at them in disbelief, rooted to the spot, a vicious, smug smile, a smile that Toni hadn’t thought Captain America capable of (but she’s fucking Steve Rogers now, and Steve Rogers is full of surprises), his bulk covering her completely.

She squirms unthinkingly on his cock, and he groans, his mouth a wet, slack smear against the bare curve of her shoulder. He fucks into her pliant body, dirty little grinds of his hips, and she tightens up around him, stretched full and taut, until all she can do is balance atop him, pinned against the wall, and take it, take whatever he’s willing to give her.

She comes like that, as he rocks his hips, sending his cock deeper inside her, in a bright and furious rush, releasing in a hot, lovely rush of pleasure, her cunt clenching over and over again around his cock. He fucks her through it, stroking her bare side, easing in, her cunt clutching at him like a vice in the aftershock.

“God, you’re beautiful, you’re so fucking beautiful,” Steve growls, his voice strained. “I don’t ever want to lose this, Toni, lose you.”

His hips stutter and snap forward once, then twice, and he comes, his face twisting in ecstasy, pulsing inside her. She grips him tight, as he crashes over that edge, riding out his orgasm. When he pulls out of her, there’s a warm wash of heat against her thighs, and she rubs them together, watching the obscene, grasping look in his eyes with satisfaction.

He likes that, he likes his come on her – that’s definitely something to play with later.

He doesn’t put her down, immediately; instead, he looks over his shoulder at the man still watching them, and the glare Steve levels at the man would strip bark off a tree.

“Get the fuck lost,” he snarls like a raging animal.

The man squeaks and flees – Toni will catch him later, pay him handsomely for being discreet, and she’ll consider it a win.

He lets her legs slip down to the floor, and she bites her lip at the pleasant stretch in her thighs. Her hands stroke down her naked body, over the livid marks his mouth and hands had left on him, and he watches her, eyes hooded. His mouth covers hers, then, and she leans into the kiss, already half-mad for him, her eyes fluttering half-shut.

His mouth breaks from hers and he kneels down, grasping the petticoat and pulling it up over her legs, tying it at her waist just tight enough, where it curves in gently, his hands warm and soft. He picks up her blouse and holds it for her, as she slips her arms through, and fastens each of the hooks, his knuckles brushing against her taut nipple, making her whine.

“Do you, uh, do you need help with your saree?” he asks, curiously, pressing in so close that his heat burns right through her skin.

Toni beams up at him. “I should be good.” She reaches down, fisting her hand in the long swathes of silk. She gasps. “Steve!”

“What? What is it?” Steve asks, worriedly, kneeling beside her.

She picks up a single jasmine bud off the saree, where numerous florets are strewn across the floor and fabric. She brandishes it at him, giving him a look like steel.

“My hair, Steve, _my hair_!”


End file.
